


Story in Scars

by Redrikki



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dead Robins, Gen, Harm to Children, Resurrection, Scars, Undead Robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: A newly resurrected Damian tries to get used to his scars.





	Story in Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Hurt/Comfort Bingo](https://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org) challenge resurrection.

Damian stood in front of the mirror and traced the scar which ran down the front of his chest like a zipper. It shown pale against the golden brown of his skin. The Heretic had stabbed him there, but how he had a scar, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he’d lived long enough for the wound to heal. Pennyworth must have sewn it shut after, while he was preparing the body for burial. Damian’s body. While he was dead. He should be rotting right now. Scars aside, he looked pretty good for an ex-corpse. 

Turning, he craned his neck to study his back. It was peppered with bullet holes. The faint surgical scar running down his spine was so straight it could have been drawn with a ruler. Not like the exit wound from the Heretic’s sword. Even with Pennyworth’s neat stitches, its edges were ragged. The sight of it made him queasy. He’d had a sword in his body, in through his heart and out just under his right shoulder blade. It must have gone in at an angle. Damian had been too busy dying to notice. 

He shivered and hugged himself for warmth. It was cold in here without a shirt on, although warmer than he imagined his grave had been. Eleven years old, and Damian already had more scars than most people saw in a lifetime. His patchwork hide looked like poorly made quilt. Any social worker worth their salt would take him from here in a heartbeat. 

Once, he’d asked Father what he told his floozies when they asked about his scars. Sometimes, he had said, he would tell them the truth in the most sarcastic way possible. Other times, he would make up some obvious and outrageous lie. Either way, she’d laugh and drop it.

Damian tried to imagine himself in bed with some stranger, maintaining his cover as an average billionaire playboy. _What’s this?_ she’d ask, stroking the offending scar.

 _That’s where I was shot,_ he’d say, pouring on the sarcasm. _That’s where my mother replaced my spine in an attempt to turn me into her living puppet. That’s where my evil clone stabbed me through the heart._

 _Wow, stabbed through the heart,_ she’d say in mock wonder. _And you’re not dead how?_

 _Oh, I was_ , he’d say breezily. _Father journeyed to Apokolips to retrieve my corpse and restore me to life using a Chaos Shard._ Maybe he’d make an Orpheus reference just to see if she would get it.

She’d laugh. He’d laugh. They’d laugh. His brutal murder and subsequent resurrection would be a very funny joke some day.

He wasn’t there yet. Best to start practicing now. Licking his lips, he gingerly touched the scar on his chest. “This is where my mother had me killed,” he said. It came out more bitter than sarcastic. His laugh sounded force. Sighing, Damian pulled his shirt back on. It would be a while before he was ready to take it off for anyone.


End file.
